This is 40, Installment 2

When I think of old people I think of things like floral sofas, and mauve or pea-green toilets. I think of white and orange Corelle ware in a kitchen with a wallpaper border around the top of the walls. Maybe it's just me. But another thing I think of is routine. And finickiness if that routine is not upheld. Glasses down on the nose. Scathing glare at the kids on the lawn.

One of the things I've discovered lately, and I realize it's a bit late in life to discover this, is that routine provides great comfort. It's not that my life is organized, let's not go that far, but my daily routines have become so predictable and...comfortable as I've gotten older. The flexibility and sense of being scattered that is essential as a parent of newborns and toddlers is not here anymore. There is still a sense of it as a mother of three loud boys, but as far as daily routines, I have more of them than I remember having before.

I won't bore you with the details of my morning routine, but they happen in the same order or things get weird. Order of operations is essential. Here are two that absolutely must happen:

Make my bed- If I don't make my bed it haunts me all day and I don't feel like a real person. Never before the past couple years has this been the case. This includes putting my pajama pants under my pillow. Thanks, Mom.

I must drink morning coffee. No change here. But if I'm at home I have to drink it out of a certain little tea cup and if at work I must drink it out of a mug, not my travel cup. My coworkers think this is strange, but it's so much more comforting to hold a warm mug of coffee than a sterile, uncaring travel mug.

I will continue to find comfort in this routine, and in the revelation that its comfort brings. Why have I been so spontaneous in the past? Why so fun and imaginative? All I really need is to go to the bathroom at the same time each day and I will be just as fulfilled.

I've found my mauve bathtub. And I like it.

This is 40.

This is 40, Installment 1

I turn 40 in March 2020. I'm beginning the countdown today. I've decided I will deal with this shocking news by recording things that happen to me, things I do, and things I overhear that make me feel 40. Or at least that make me speculate on my age and mortality and the human plight in general. Perhaps viewing this impending milestone with humor will make it more palatable. It's not as if using humor as a defense mechanism is foreign to me.

First up: Yesterday one of my 11th graders announced to the class that I seemed like the type of person who would cook casseroles.

This is 40.

He was trying to explain what a casserole was to one of his classmates, and apparently I am casserole age.

Bring it on.

I looked up from my book to see this last night. #beingted